Ever And A Day
by A.V Storm
Summary: Here is a fanfiction detailing minor and major memories that belong to Colonel Roy Mustang and First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. It begins with Roy's days as Berthold Hawkeye's pupil and until he becomes the Fuhrer of Amestris, including everything in-between. Based on 100 writing prompts; likely told in the perception of other characters as well. (Royai; RoyxRiza; fluff)
1. Chapter 1 - Dance

**Author's Notes** :  
Helloooo! Long time, no see (ish). I have been a gigantic Fullmetal Alchemist fan for the last ten years and recently, I have rediscovered my love for Royai after reading the manga and watching Brotherhood… _Again_. So here I am to present another fanfiction for you. ;)

It might be out of character (I'm super rusty lol), but this is my personal take on how Royai come to be. Sniff. I'm using a writing prompt, which might be all over the place. Mostly I'll just be using each of the subjects for certain settings and "flashbacks" for Roy and Riza, chronicling their past and future and whatever (FMA events included). So there's that; I'm sure that there are a million better fanfictions about this, but hey, I'll give it my best. Most of the chapters hopefully won't be too long, just substantial excerpts; I'll be going back and forth depending on the prompt.

I'll also be giving my own input on Roy's parentage and whatever, since none of that has been confirmed. Most of this will be my shitty headcanons. I'm sorry if this ends badly on my behalf, eep.

* * *

 _ **Ever And A Day**_

 _Chapter I – Dance_

* * *

"Now Mustang, what makes magma?"

It was _so_ late. The Hawkeye household in the outskirts of West city felt stuffier than ever, so dry like a desert in the home that harbored such few neighbors. Rubbing his forehead as sweat began to plant itself across his skin, Roy Mustang gave a feeble sigh. He glanced at his teacher within the study that belonged to him. The shirt he wore stuck against his skin, especially the longer that he remained sitting down in the same place across from his Alchemic teacher. Erstwhile, it was his final test for the evening, and he couldn't wait for it to be over. Especially if it meant being free from the hot room, which resided on the top floor of the Hawkeye home.

Regardless, the young Roy Mustang lifted his gaze to meet the gray eyes of the man. Master Hawkeye was a grungy individual who hadn't shaved his neckbeard since Roy had arrived three weeks prior. His face was thin, cheeks sinking in ever so slightly around the edges of his long, narrow jaw. But without a doubt, the most disappointing feature of the man was his eyes. They were small, beady, and pale, constantly scrutinizing his only student – clearly expecting him to fail secondly; Roy could interpret that Berthold hoped that he would. Sometimes it was difficult for Roy to fathom that Master Hawkeye was so popular as a brilliant uncertified Alchemist and philosopher in the Western region of Amestris.

The young man licked his lips while he squared his shoulders proudly, staring hard into the dead eyes of Hawkeye who anticipated nonfulfillment from him.

"Magma is a natural mixture of four parts; it is both a molten and semi-molten medley, of which components are liquid base, crystallized minerals, solidified rocks, and dissipated gases." The words that came from Roy's mouth oozed with his own egotism. Momentarily, Hawkeye appeared impressed - but Roy knew that it wouldn't last for long.

The flames from the fireplace danced across Master Hawkeye's pallid, gaunt face. It took Roy all of his self-restraint not to smirk at the man. Berthold watched him with great intent, as though he had transformed into a snake about to coil its way around the middle of a plump rat. It was not a difficult scenario to imagine, considering that the room was unbelievably humid. Regardless, the thought caused Roy to swallow hard, becoming nervous. His mouth was getting drier than ever as the heat in the room rose and doubled in just the few seconds that silence captivated the pair.

Finally, Hawkeye tilted his head with the finality of the test. His thin lips barely touched when he handed out another chance to impress him.

"And do you suppose that it would be achievable, should Alchemic sources obtain it?"

"No." Roy inserted heavily, reaching up with his hand to rub his chin with conclusive thought. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Hawkeye's eyebrows raise slightly – clearly waiting for his student to explain his hypothesis. "The appropriate Alchemic process of Magma is purely deconstruction– there is no control, no reconstruction."

In just that one moment, Roy was purged from his former anxiety. Berthold appeared mildly impressed by the quick response as he nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he peered hard at the young man. But even his body language alone gave Roy the feeling that the man did not respect him, and likely never would.

"Very well." Hawkeye answered gruffly, nodding towards the closed door of the study. "You pass for now, Mustang. Get some sleep."

Breathing outwards heavily, Roy stood up too quickly to free himself from the room. It was the middle of summer and every day since his arrival, Master Hawkeye had lit the fireplace in his study without giving a reason for such behavior. Normally Roy wouldn't have dared ask, but just as his fingers gripped around the bronze knob of the door, he slowly peeked over his shoulder with bravery. Berthold was now moving the Alchemic books they had used that evening back over to his fine cabinets, not saying a word or making any sound of his own. In fact, Roy could barely hear his movement whatsoever.

Frowning, Roy's hand dropped from evacuated the study. It was taking all of his effort not to begin panting from the unbearable high temperature. "May I ask a question, master?"

"Always." Berthold breathed knowingly. However, he did not turn around to face his pupil when the words had spoken, causing Roy to clear his throat.

"Why do you keep the fire lit during our practices?"

It was clear to Roy that this inquiry was a frequent one, and he instantly regretted asking as soon as the Flame Alchemist turned around. There was a flare of greed in his pale gaze then, tilting his head sideways with the barest inch of a smile residing tenderly against the corners of his mouth.

"I will answer your query with another question… How do you expect to learn Flame Alchemy when you cannot tolerate the heat, young Mustang?"

 _It was another test_ , and one that he had no answer for. Roy mentally told himself this, feeling utmost foolish. But he would not allow Hawkeye to know of his private shame – instead, he focused his attention back on the door, forcing it forward when he clicked the handle.

"I see." He remarked, not daring to look back at the man again – especially if it meant that he would change his mind. "Goodnight, sir."

Trudging down the stairs as he went, exhaustion poured into every sense that fourteen-year-old Roy Mustang inhabited by the time that he arrived on the first floor. The home of the Hawkeye family was bleak and dusty, but well-kempt all things considered. Rubbing his eyes, Roy was grateful to finally be away from the heat of the fireplace. He made his way into the kitchen in hopes of retrieving a drink, but his footsteps fell short in the corridor. A faint sound of music filled his ears, causing Roy to pause as he slunk forward curiously. When he peeked around the corner of the kitchen, it did not surprise him to find Master Hawkeye's daughter sitting at the table doing schoolwork.  
 _  
_Berthold Hawkeye's daughter was a silent, polite girl of few words; a quietude of non-existent pride that the middle-aged father never spoke about. And even after three weeks, Roy had barely spoken ten different words to Riza Hawkeye, and even fewer in return. She was either eleven or twelve– he couldn't remember precisely then, but was curious by her consistent sheltering. Subsequently, not enough to make any action about it until now.

Nonchalantly, Roy sauntered into the kitchen where Riza sat at the table studying Mathematics. She only glanced up at him some, but did not say a word. Frowning, Roy watched her from the corner of his vision while he reached into the cupboard to find a glass and pour himself some water. The music was coming from an old radio resting in the corner of the table. It was instrumental and unlike anything he had heard before back at Aunt Chris' home. But of course, that _was_ to be expected when his only living relative and legal guardian worked in a bar…

When Riza caught him staring, Roy did the first thing that came to mind. He lifted his brows teasingly at her, casting a sardonic drawl her way just as he had a few times before since his arrival at the Hawkeye establishment.

"Would you like to dance?" He jested, casting her a cheekish grin. Riza Hawkeye did not appear enthused by what he had to say – she didn't even _smile_. Instead, the young blonde girl rolled her amber eyes at him. They quickly retracted back to her homework.

"No." She countered bluntly. "But you look like you could use a glass of water, if you can manage that on your own."

Eyebrows raising with conclusive surprise at her retort, Roy chuckled. In his opinion, that gave him enough right of his own to sit with her at the table after he had finished his third glass of water. The music from the radio continued to waft through the dining area, before Roy finally felt hydrated enough to speak again. But Riza did not look at him much, even when he sat across from her at the table when the chair made a sharp scraping noise against the floor.

"Tell me, does your father ever stop using his fireplace?" Roy asked lamely, running a hand through his damp bangs. Riza looked up, nodding only once while considering him thoroughly.

"Yes, whenever one of his pupils give up." She said softly. Judging by the fact that Roy had wantonly asked her to dance, she made no effort not to cause him to deadpan by her last response of the evening. "You would be number nine."

"Great… Good to know." He mumbled in response, before wishing the girl a farewell and slinking back into the hallway of the home.

It had taken months to receive Berthold Hawkeye's answer to become his student. The Flame Alchemist had claimed repeatedly that he was too young, too inexperienced, too immature and obnoxious to take his sciences seriously… But finally, there he was, living under the roof of the reclusive man. Roy didn't know who was more unpleasant – it seemed like neither Berthold nor Riza Hawkeye were particularly positive individuals, and clearly neither of them wanted him to succeed…

As his feet padded against the wooden flooring of the home to reach the guest room he was using, Riza's head emerged shyly from outside of the wall where she had been sitting.

"Goodnight, Mister Mustang." She called out, offering him the slightest smile of all time. "And good luck tomorrow."

Pausing while he rubbed the back of his neck, Roy returned the sentiments with surprise - he wondered if she meant the finality of her words, and hoped that she did.

Ergo, the boy that Colonel Roy Mustang had been back then never would have guessed the sort of future he would hold with Berthold Hawkeye's daughter; not on his life.


	2. Chapter II - Treat

**Author's Notes:  
** I'm trying not to focus too much on Roy's time as Berthold's pupil, but some things can't be helped.

Here is some fluff! Hope it's okay. Any questions or recommendations are welcome.

* * *

 _ **Ever And A Day**_

 _Chapter II – Treat_

* * *

"Dammit…"

Although Roy Mustang had tried keeping quiet, there was no end to his torment as a young Alchemist hoping to obtain the power of the Flame Alchemist. His teeth were gritted when the slang escaped his mouth, biting the inside of his lips while wincing through the pain of scrubbing an inked image of the flame array from the back of his hands. As the sink oozed cool water from the spout, Roy breathed a sigh of relief. Each of the palms of his hands were seared with burns while he stood in the washroom of the Hawkeye household. The flesh was whitened as the skin swelled, blistering a boiling hot red from the bottom of his palm and ending on a few of his fingers.

Fortunately, Berthold Hawkeye had left that morning to retire downtown for new material not to witness his student's insolence. Although now that it was later in the afternoon, Roy reluctantly knew that he would have to explain his injuries to the older man. He expected that he wouldn't be happy about it.

"Are you alright, Mister Mustang?"

Jumping from the sound of a small, polite voice from behind him, Roy swerved around at the foyer of the washroom. Riza Hawkeye peered at him curiously as he pushed his hands further into the cold water of the sink, hoping that she wouldn't see. The last thing he needed was for her to go and tell on him once her father returned to the suburbs of West City. Ergo, Roy exhaled at his failure to remember to close and lock the door behind him after he had sought refuge.

"I'm _fine_." He retorted indignantly, grimacing some with his own pain and wavering confidence. Clearly his tone was not convincing for the younger girl.

"You don't look fine." Riza calculated, frowning at him. She folded her arms over her torso, giving him a frank look that her father wore whenever he answered a question incorrectly. "Did you burn yourself?"

"Oh, what would you know about it?" He spat back at her impulsively. From the moment that the rough-edged sentence had left his mouth, he saw that Riza was surprised by his temper. But when he turned back to apologize for his behavior, the girl was gone again.

Fear flooded through his stomach at her abrupt departure, wondering where she had gone. Quietly, Roy damned himself again. It was one thing to have made a mistake using Flame Alchemy while his master was away, but to scorn his daughter… Roy began to wonder if he would be packing his bags by the end of the day to reluctantly return to Central and face Madame Christmas empty handed.

Just when he had managed to scrub away the ink from the back of his hands, Roy exhaled. The water was unbelievably relieving of the burned pressure that had contaminated his hands, but he knew from the moment he removed them, he would be in trouble. However, just when impending doom began to visualize over his cloud of imagination, Riza Hawkeye had returned. She held a large bowl in her arms, placing it next to him at the sink. Roy blinked at the blonde-haired girl, whose amber gaze peered up at him expectantly.

"Put your hands in these, let it soak for a while…" She advised, gesturing at it with the tilt of her head. Roy slowly retracted his hands from the cold water to look inside of the foamy white liquid inside of the bowl. Its smell was strong salty; it captivated the washroom, causing Roy to wrinkle his nose with distaste. It reminded him of the various fragrances of medicines in a hospital room.

"What is it?" He asked, looking back at Riza for an explanation. Until she told him what it was, there was no way he would go dunking his sore hands inside of it.

"A home remedy. My mother used to make it for father whenever he burned himself during his exercises."

Blinking with surprise at the mention of the former Missus Berthold Hawkeye (who had yet to be mentioned whatsoever apart from her scarce photographs in the home), Roy analyzed Riza's serene expressions. Although they hadn't spoken much in the last month and a half since his arrival at the Hawkeye home, he knew that the girl was earnest. Blunt and caustic, even – a factor that was frustrating, but far more welcoming than Master Hawkeye's ghostly eyes were. There was no reason for her to fool him. And so, the boy placed his hands into the cool water of the bowl.

Almost immediately, the burned skin on his palms seemed to ease from the scorching pain he had been in twenty minutes prior. Roy gave a gentle sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly.

"Your mother, huh?" He asked, opening one eye to look at Riza. She smiled faintly at his reaction, but didn't seem as though she wanted to discuss her mother very much. Roy could hardly blame her. He had been orphaned himself by the time that he was seven-years-old; the death of a parent was not an ode of romanticism, despite that many tried to do so. There was no way to replace a parent.

"She passed away a few years ago." Riza explained shortly, seeming passive while she continued. Roy realized that it was the first real conversation that they'd had yet. "Since then, father has been working tirelessly; I don't see him much anymore. Hence the reason that you are his ninth student since."

"Sounds… Boring." Roy admitted honestly, chuckling under his breath. Riza shrugged her shoulders from beside him, folding her arms again while her gaze drew awry against the bowl.

"It's not so terrible. Sometimes my grandfather will take me away for a few weeks at a time – but he's often busy with the military." She paused, pursing her lips together with thought. But even with Riza Hawkeye's attempts to seem well-adjusted and well-behaved, Roy could see the glimmer of a young girl who would rather live with her Amestrian military grandfather than her emotionally disclosed Alchemist father.

Subsequently, Roy had begun to feel bouts of sympathy for the girl. But when her topic of conversation quickly switched to him for answers, the fourteen-year-old boy began to laugh.

"And what about you? Doesn't your family miss you?"

Grinning comically while his hands continued to medically soothe beneath the container of salty water, Roy shook his head. Although he admired his aunt from a certain standpoint, she had never reveled at the thought of him becoming an Alchemist. Perhaps it was her worry for him, which was impeccably understandable. But to imply that the woman actually missed his presence as her adopted and fostered nephew when she had her own children to worry about would be falsified, in his opinion.

"Ha… Yeah, I'm sure Aunt Chris misses me leaving my shoes out and never doing my own laundry… Frankly, I'm sure she was happy to get rid of me." He leaned forward to wink at Riza humorously, who continued to stand beside him and glue her attention to what he had to say.

But Riza did not laugh. Instead, her words were scolding. "That sounds awfully contrived."

"Yeah but it's probably true."

"I doubt it."

As a creeping silence captivated the pair, Roy inhaled deeply. Perhaps he felt a little guilty for being so dismissive about his aunt, but he was obstinate enough in his own beliefs that Riza couldn't be right. Finally, after a moment of looking at his burned hands and marveling in his own thoughts, he peeked at the girl again. What he wanted to ask was how her mother had passed away, but as the unspoken vow of an orphaned boy, he knew better than to make inquiries over an emotional topic. So rather, Roy focused on another agenda of his own that constituted their situation.

"Hey, Riza…? Would you mind not telling your father about this?" Gesturing at their current stance in the washroom, Riza's eyebrows lifted marginally with surprise of her own. Roy tried to determine what she was thinking, but it was to no avail – Riza Hawkeye was just as incomprehensible as her father was.

"I won't tell him." She promised, eyes gazing intensely at him. He had the sneaking suspicion that she was trying to read his thoughts as well. "But what were you trying to do?"

Frowning glumly, Roy would have smacked his hand with his forehead if he was able to. The last thing that he wanted to do was admit to the slightly younger girl that he had deliberately disobeyed his Alchemy instructor. But if she promised that she wouldn't expose his plights, then no harm could be done.

"Attempted to cause a flame spark through Alchemic clapping..." Roy admitted tersely, laughing at himself. The more he thought about it, the more that he realized how dumb and inexperienced he had been. The corner of Riza's mouth curved into a smile, and he could see that she was amused by the story of just how badly he had messed up.

"I thought it would work if I drew the flame array on my hands, but it was just about the stupidest thing I've ever done. Now my hands are all burned up… You must think I'm an idiot, huh?"

"I think you're an idiot for attempting to learn Flame Alchemy underneath my father, so my expectations aren't very high." Riza answered frankly, shrugging her shoulders. To which case, Roy's smile quickly faltered into a flat line while he blinked repeatedly at the girl.

"Why?"

The inquiry hung in the air. Just when she exhaled sharply, her eyes had narrowed harder than ever when her lips parted again. It seemed as though she had been holding in this explanation for a long time. Roy began to suspect that she had desired to warn him since his arrival. But he knew that he would never question her about it. After all, he planned to become an Alchemist himself someday – no matter what obstacles came in his way or were wretched on his path. His determination remained higher than ever, especially when the girl spoke to apprehend him.

"It's dangerous, Mister Mustang. Even learning the proper techniques and plumbing its research indefinitely is a long road to absolution. My father hasn't even completed his own studies yet; what makes you think you can do the same?"

Their eyes met, staring each other down intensely. Roy frowned at her stubbornly, shook his head and rolled his eyes before he voiced his opinion. There was no doubt that Flame Alchemy was a dangerous road, but it was the only one he was willing to take in order to reach his ambitions.

"Sounds like you know a lot about it, is that why you haven't learned yourself?" He murmured darkly. For a brief flit of a second, he thought that he saw Riza's face jerk into a twist – causing Roy to wonder what else she knew, but wouldn't tell him.

"No, that's not why. I have no interest in the field of Alchemy." Riza breathed contentedly. Nonetheless, it was clear to him by the certitude in her tone that she no longer wished to discuss the topic of Flame Alchemy. And so, Roy merely lifted his shoulders again.

"I guess I'll just have to respect your opinion then."

Riza finally cast him her first true smile – enough that it didn't show her teeth, but it reached her eyes. And that was enough, for then. He may have doubted her intentions and kindness before. However, from that moment further, he could see that she believed in him; at least in one way or another, which was comforting.

"Thank you, Mister Mustang."

Roy beamed cheekishly as he removed his hands from the bowl. His fingers had wrinkled on the edges, but the blisters on his palms had decreased considerably. With any luck, he would be able to hold a pen without wincing – and maybe Master Hawkeye wouldn't notice the faint traces of inflated skin. Even so, Roy was more grateful towards Riza Hawkeye for showing him such concern of her own for the first time in six weeks.

"And thank you, Miss Hawkeye, for medicating my hands and giving me the treat of your company." He thought about winking at her again, but instead waggled his eyebrows humorously.

"Of course, just don't get used to it – and don't try anything this stupid again."

"Oh, don't worry…" Roy promised her, exhaling with relief. "I won't."


	3. Chapter III - Sand

**Author's Notes:** I apologize that this fanfiction might be all over the place as a sort of collection of memoirs. I'm really not into writing super gushy romance. So if this seems overdone (or done before) I promise that I am not trying to copy anybody else's work. LOL… But thanks for reading anyway! I'm also trying to update daily, which is why the chapters aren't anything too long. Sorry if this is disastrous; I've just never thought that there was ever a forbidden romance between Roy and Riza while Roy was a student. Probably a dumb headcanon, but the most realistic to me when it comes to each of the characters.

I'm also trying to ignore the fact that I'm so pissed off that Hannibal was canceled by NBC. REALLY, NBC?! REALLY?! YOU ASSHOLEs...

* * *

 **Ever And A Day**

 _Chapter III – Sand  
_

* * *

There was no escaping the nightmarish war in Ishval; Roy Mustang learned that the first hour that they had sent a plethora of soldiers into the Eastern countryside of Amestris, himself included. The first few weeks had been an utmost blur of making vague attempts in his uniform to regulate the chaos of the country. Never before had Roy truly been spit on by passersby, but he learned quickly that the Ishvalan soldiers were capable of much worse terrors, which King Bradley implied as truth and vindication – and who was anyone to question the Fuhrer, especially when it came from lowly ranked Major Mustang?

But when the state Alchemist decree had been imported on Ishvalan desert, Roy felt his mistakes flood through the entirety of his being; it reached from the tips of his fingers and to the end of his toes like frostbite, taking deep chunks out of his muscles. The first kill from the snap of his fingers never wore well on his being – as his sinking convictions came to remind him of the genocide that was spreading across the endless floors of sand in Ishval. Consequently, that was the first aspect of the Eastern country that Mustang had acknowledged – the _sand_. It drank in the blood of his victims, as though its thirst could never truly be quenched enough. And no matter how many times Roy tied his black military boots, there was no way of foreboding the sand from squeezing its way into his footwear as he walked the unmarked paths of inevitable death and battle.

The sand stuck to his skin at night when he attempted to sleep soundly on the campsites of the other Amestrian soldiers, clinging in his hair and clothing, which caused fervent scratching during the nighttime hours. Sleep became the greatest myth in Ishval, as he was led along the front lines with the rest of his fellow state licensed Alchemists – fire brimming from the tips of his gloved fingers, purging the bodies that came to defend themselves as their souls were scorched. Quieting his mind was difficult during the nighttime hours – impossible, even.

Sometimes he spent days at a time staring at the bleak tanned canopy of the Amestrian army tents, pretending to count sheep over the fiery bridge of warfare in order to persuade his mind to fade momentarily. All he had wanted was comfort from his own restless convictions. But it was to no avail, he remained as awake as ever while wondering to himself what life had felt like before Ishval. Part of him had ultimately forgotten, after a few months of being there. He couldn't remember the faces of his parents as bodies landed against the grim desert, blanketed by the sand that ate up the blood that was left behind.

It wasn't until Roy had been reintroduced with his former roommate back when he had been nothing more than an eager military dog at the academy that he was able to sleep. For the first time in months, being reunited with Maes Hughes caused him to balance his stance once more on who he was, or who he had been prior to the war in Ishval. Hughes had never done so intentionally, but Roy was more grateful to his former companion every day that they trudged through the war lines together. Having him around gave him the slightest antidote and ability to grace his own physical and mental deficiency – but there were some nights when he could have killed his comrade.

Roy didn't know what caused Maes to read his letters to Gracia aloud _insistently_ while he wrote _,_ but it seemed as though he always made room for the hobby whenever the state Alchemist was attempting to relax his mind into slumber.

"' _Dear Gracia',"_ Hughes began one evening, after the sun began to sink beyond their tent. Roy groaned as his mind lulled from exhaustion, rolling over onto his side when his friend began yet another dramatic letter. Despite his attempt of closing his eyes and ignoring the other man, it was to no avail – Hughes was so passionate that it would take the entire army of Drachma to shut him up.

"' _I was so happy to see that you had written me this morning! I hope that you are doing well, I think about you all of the time out here – '"_

"Hughes?" Roy mumbled gravely. He retracted his head from his pillow within their tent, attempting to look long side at Hughes, who was writing by the light of a lamp near his feet. But it didn't seem as though the other man had noticed when his romantic lamenting continued.

" _'Sometimes I see you in my dreams – I hope that you are well, and that I may be able to see that face when I return home!'"_

Whether it was because he felt the need to gag from every implied romanticism in the world via a letter or because he was so sleep deprived, Roy Mustang did not know. But he did not regret kicking Maes' lamplight over in the tent, nor the separate kick that smacked clean against Maes' forehead.

"HUGHES, WILL YOU STOP READING ALOUD?! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!"

By the time that he had yelled at his fellow companion, he was certain that the whole campsite might have heard. Regardless, Maes Hughes was no less determined as he countered back at him.

"Hey! What was _that_ for?! Come on, Roy…! Are you trying to start a fire in here?! Don't you get enough of that on the battlefield every day?! You pyromaniac, what the heck is wrong with you?!"

Roy mumbled a brief slew of swearwords into his pillow as a response, but Hughes must not have heard him as he relit the lamp in their tent. And without further ado, Maes was on the same rampant conversation as usual involving the girl back at home who was supposedly _"waiting_ " for his return.

"Anyway, I didn't realize you were awake. I was just writing to Gracia! She's the prettiest thing…!"

"So I've heard." Roy grumbled lowly, leaning his head up to briefly stare at the officer with seething rage. "And I swear to God, if you don't shut your mouth, I'll rip off your arm and beat you with the soggy end… Is that clear?"

"Come on, man." Hughes leaned up to shoot a humored grin at him, despite that Roy tried to close his eyes and fall asleep immediately. Clearly no amount of threats would discourage him. "You can't tell me there isn't a girl back home you don't think about."

Roy rolled over, closing his eyes once more as a pounding headache began to form on each sides of his temples. "There isn't, as there isn't exactly a home that I have to go to…"

"Right." Hughes mused, allowing a second to pass in silence. Perhaps he had forgotten at the academy that Roy had been orphaned and fostered at a young age. It didn't matter to Roy if he had, but his next accusation made the young man rile up in the unformed bout of comfort in his sleeping bag.

"But you're telling me you've never been hung up on a girl before? I find that hard to believe…"

The seconds passed. Time ticked like blood vessel beating against his veins in ordinance. Until finally, a minute later, Roy mumbled again with his cheek pressed up against his pillow. The sound of his own confession was foreign - but it was enlightening to allow someone to know, for once. At least someone would – lest he died the next day, should any warranted Ishvalan have their way with him.

"… There was one."

"Called it!" Hughes shouted, as though he had run an enemy down with victory. Roy heard the other young man rustle himself up to stare him down through the dim light of their tent with a demand of his own. "Tell me everything!"

"It's not like _that_." Roy groaned tiredly, rubbing his eyes while he explained himself through his half-asleep sense of mind. Of course, Hughes would make light of a very unromantic relationship and push for it. Luckily, he had enough sense to defend himself.

"She's the daughter of my late Alchemist teacher. And I doubt we'll see each other very often again."

Even with every memory that the war had torn his visualization. It had warped into flayed and unrecognizable bits of flesh, Roy still remembered her. Berthold Hawkeye's daughter, who had passed evenly between her teenage years by the time that he had joined the military and betrayed his master. There was no doubt in his mind that he had been consequently smitten by her, as she was the only company in the Hawkeye home that he had found the glimmer of warmth that eradicated his humanity. And he still remembered her sometimes, though it was difficult to recall her face. She had been fair-skinned, with short golden hair. He recalled the way that her hair grew and lightly curled around her ears, or the way that her mouth moved whenever she smiled or made a smart comment at him. But her face was gone – even through the canals of his mind, just as his parents were, despite that he tried very hard to reach for them.

Hughes' voice broke him from the void of his former memories, sounding more sexually suggestive than ever as he poked Roy's head with his foot. "Uh oh, now it's bound to be; sounds awfully _forbidden_ , especially for you _._ "

"Please, she's not like that. And it's not what you think it is." Roy murmured pointedly. He thought about smacking Hughes hard with his hand, but decided to ignore it entirely – especially if it meant shutting him up for the rest of the evening. However, when the man made another insinuation, Roy growled loudly at his companion's accusations. Despite that he knew Maes was only teasing him, he initial reaction was to grow defensive.

"You mean you weren't all over her behind her dad's back?"

"No!" He tried to kick Hughes' head again, but failed. "I wouldn't do that! I'm not like _you_ , Hughes!"

"Aw, come on, Roy… I was just teasing you!" Maes cracked up into formidable laughter that echoed against the canvas tent, going off in the same humored voice as before. "And what is up with all of the pessimism? How do you know she isn't thinking about you while you're out fighting for Amestris?"

For a single second, Major Roy Mustang paused when he thought of Master Berthold's daughter, when they had stood before her mother and father's graves. He had promised her then that she could contact him through the military personnel, if she wished – before the moment had whisked away into her asking him not to die. It was a vow that he hoped to keep to her and many others. And it was not a recollection that he hoped he would forget.

"I don't, but it doesn't matter. She's far too good to sulk about a state Alchemist killing Ishvalans…" Roy muttered instinctively, feeling his mouth fall into a straight line. "Far too good for someone like _me_."

"Whatever you say... I'll bet she's thinking about you now." Hughes answered hopefully. Roy could imagine him waggling his eyebrows in the darkness when he finally blew out the light from the lantern. After a few minutes, just when he figured Maes had fallen asleep, Roy began to collapse into his own exhaustion. But just as his mind began to relax, he heard Hughes speak again.

"What'd you say her name was again?" Maes mumbled sleepily, yawning.

"It doesn't matter." Roy inserted dully, closing his eyes as sleep began to overcome him. Her name was the last word that left his mouth that night, not knowing that the Hawk's Eye was not as far away from him as he had anticipated and hoped.

"But it's Riza."


End file.
